


the lion and the unicorn

by fate-motif (fate_motif)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: (more of a retelling), (up to a point), Canon Compliant, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Superstition, What Could Have Been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22888234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fate_motif/pseuds/fate-motif
Summary: when his name is the last word you ever speak -
Relationships: Magnus Manson/Thomas Hartnell, William Gibson/Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	1. hammock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "it's just that, i've heard them sir"

The nights after the lashing have become harder to sleep through. It’s only a handful of men berthing at _Terror_ , and that precisely makes every creak and groan of the ice, the wood, and the mates echo throughout the ship. It was spooky. From the officers to the seamen, an uneasiness clung to all of them and made them grimace before starting or ending any task. Anything could happen, really, in the husk that _Terror_ had become.

That’s when the wailing begins.

Magnus wakes from restless sleep with a shudder, and he notices that he’s not the only one awake. Mr. Hickey’s eyes lie open, and most unlike him, his eyebrows furrow in worry. Another seaman a few feet away is smoking, and his eyes will not stay still. And not that far off is Tom Hartnell lying on his stomach just like Magnus, but swaying his hammock as gently as he could with his breath as the high pitched creaks reached the ears of everyone in forecastle. They sound like moans. The kind of moans someone bleeding out makes as the life pours out of them.

Magnus winces.

“You can hear it too, then.” Mr. Hickey’s eyes have drifted to meet Magnus’, sharing his worry about - that.

“Just the wood,” answers Magnus with a hitched breath, knowing perfectly well he was lying to himself.

_It could have been any one of us that got cut in half._

A puff of air leaves Mr. Hickey’s nose in contempt. “Just the wood. Just a bear that took Strong and Evans.”

Magnus turns on his side to avoid Hickey, eyes closed.

“It won’t do you any good to ignore your gut, Magnus.” Hickey’s voice is cheerful, but there’s worry there too. “You think lying to yourself is going to put you in less danger?”

“Maybe.”

Tom Hartnell’s voice cuts across to their conversation. Not loud enough to disturb anyone, but enough that Magnus’ eyes fly open, and he catches Tom’s rueful little smile like he was tired of Hickey’s blabbing.

“If you’re walking on a slippery path in the woods, you can’t falter, you know,” he continues, eyes glazed up like he’s thinking about a specific one. “If you’re unsure you’ll only get more hurt than if you have sure footing.”

Magnus chuckles. He’s never been in a real, deep wood. Comes with being an islander.

“I’m sure the bear agrees,” says Hickey drily.

Magnus, on his part, doesn’t speak. He only begins to try and rock his hammock like Hartnell is doing - slow, steady, but not enough to increase the noise and call attention to themselves. His heart’s slowing down, even the eerie groaning wracking the ship -

 _Are we just going to leave it like that?_ says Evans, in the back of his head. Voice cracking. Like a kid.

Over at Hartnell’s hammock, Tom’s breathing has slowed and the smile he’d put on earlier hadn’t gone away. It almost chases Evans’ ghost away, and makes Magnus break out into his own smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 1 answers the prompt "hammock". more to come, up to the end of the characters' lives.


	2. first shot a winner, lads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "is there more to that story than we've heard?"

The days go on. The officers on _Terror_ do not let their guard down over the month; if anything, they’ve become all the more vigilant. Billy Gibson thinks as much when crossing the line back and forth. On one side, the captain grows stoutlier and gaunter by the hour; the stewards and lieutenants keep the schedule afloat with as much dignity as a headless chicken. Fortunately for them, on the other, there’s the seamen. A determined little spirit had caught hold of them in the quiet, in spite of the endless work to be done. The kind of spirit that, in a full house, would actually lead to trouble. Mr. Hickey undercuts Mr. Darlington. The privates begin to mingle with the seamen. That kind of thing.

Their cheer, however, seems to have tempted fate. One evening Mr. Hickey and Magnus assist Mr. Darlington’s duties. Cornelius grabs a towel he’s been using to wipe away the excess varnish and holds a coin in his other hand, like he’s about to do a magic trick. He doesn’t get the chance to, because the stairs open up and bring in none other than the Lady Silence herself, guarded by a group of eight or so men from Erebus.

And with them, an unconscious Mr. Hornby.

Lady Silence holds Magnus’ gaze defiantly, almost as if daring him to touch her again. Even when he’s relieved from assisting Mr. Darlington and completes another task elsewhere on the ship, he can’t shake off her stoic glare. In his mind, he has no doubt that she’d brought Mr. Hornby’s demise about. You don’t just _drop dead_ out of nowhere without some kind of magic.

“The hold, Mr. Hartnell, Mr. Manson.”

Billy Gibson nods to the two curtly while on his way to perform his own duties. 

_The hold._

“We’ll be burying Mr. Hornby,” cries out Manson to Tom Hartnell. He stops in his tracks, and his face pales.

“I didn’t know he’d died.”

Magnus’ heart falls. “Yeah, I - I’m sorry.”

Tom shakes his head, patting Magnus’ shoulder. “If we’re lucky, he’ll be the last man lost of the expedition.” He grimaces, as if facing the weight of all the others that he’d put before Hornby to put a positive spin on what they were about to do.

“You don’t believe we will,” notices Magnus.

“No,” says Tom. The color’s returning to his cheeks. “But they’d want us to think that. To hope for the better.”

Magnus doesn’t have the words for that, so they fetch Hornby’s body under Lt. Irving’s supervision. It would have all gone well if it hadn’t been a leftenant over them, insisting that _God does not grant us ghosts_. An ire sparks inside of Magnus when he says so. _You think lying to us is going to keep us safe?_

Mr. Hickey comes forward then. Oh, but he’s going to get a lashing for that blow -

It’s still somehow not as bad as the disappointment on Tom’s face.

“It’s alright, Manson. He’s stowed,” he insists, gray-faced and cold.

It’s only then when he remembers John Hartnell’s unexpected death during the earlier days of the expedition, and Tom’s grief.

“You’ve - you’ve heard them - ” protests Magnus.

“I have. But I’m not a kid and I don’t think getting a lashing is going to make it all better,” retorts Tom. 

By the firelight of the lamp, Mr. Hickey cocks his head.

Tom looks up towards Magnus, hand on his arm. “We’ll get out of this place, and they won’t matter. You have yourself, and your fellow sailors, and the officers - ”

The _officers_. Irving’s flushed cheeks came to mind. How did they have the _officers_?

“ - and we will live. Whatever they’re going through,” Tom’s head turns to the dead room, his face ailing, “we’re not involved in. They won’t trouble us. The dead are dead and the living are living.”

Magnus sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 answers the prompt "first shot a winner, lads", and this is what else there is to that story in the hold.


	3. carnivale (free space)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a benjo plan for first sunrise.

First sunrise's coming up, and things couldn't be looking darker after Mr. Blanky's amputation. The captain spends all his time in his cabin now, for one. Leftenant Le Vesconte, however, brightens the day for _Terror_ when he announces Captain Fitzjames' carnivale. An uproar ensues. After a while on sixth-water, Magnus could do with a good party.

"It's a good thing we're on the empty ship, really. They may have more things to make costumes with, but we don't have to fight each other for it," Magnus mentions to Billy Gibson. Billy's looking preoccupied, however, so he turns to Tom Hartnell and the lads already looking over the cache the Leftenant's brought over to rummage for.

"They took all the good dresses," complains Bobby Golding, half chuckling to himself.

"Don't think there's that much to do with all this paper," adds a marine, trying to measure the length of his head for a crown.

Magnus, on his part, has seized a couple of mops, and a pointed birthday hat.

"... Is that for a gnome?" asks Tom Hartnell. He's grinning, but also eyeing mops himself.

"A unicorn." 

Tom's seized a sort of animal head of paste now, and glances back at him questioningly. "Mind if I match that with a lion, myself?"

"Sure." Magnus chuckles in spite of himself.

* * *

There's so much to be done before the actual carnivale, but Manson has never been one to skimp on work before play. Captain Fitzjames appears once the tents have been pitched, the lights assembled, the food and drinks set up, and the costumes donned. That's when the drinking starts, and Magnus lifts his first glass to Tom. Getting lost in the races, the drinking, the dancing, the sailors have the jolliest time a man can possibly get in the Arctic. The crux of the night, however, comes with the fighting match.

"You can't go dressed like that without asking for a fight," Mr. Coombe prods, shoving Magnus from behind. Tom Hartnell spills his drink when they're thrown on each other.

"Alright, alright, I'll give you some fun," crows Hartnell, who's clearly not eager to wrestle a man of Magnus' size. He doesn't get a choice before Magnus immediately tackles him with a massive grin on his face. A gun goes off somewhere in a different tent. There's now a crowd around them as Magnus has Tom pinned down to the floor. 

In spite of the dark, the damp, the noise and the alcohol, they share a look.

Tom kicks back, but it's not much of a wrassle before Magnus has him hands behind his back. 

"At least make it a show, Tom!" complains Harry Peglar. Billy Gibson cheers out for Manson, on his part.

He picks up Tom, lifting him up in victory. Tom still lifts his arms like he'd won. Magnus spirals with Tom in his arms, and they fall onto the ground with a thud. By that point the Leftenant Le Vesconte has shown up, and offers a race. Tom Hartnell's sneaking off for another drink, and tries pulling Manson's hand to bring him over.

"Oh, come on, you're our winning horse, Manson!" crows Billy Gibson, who pulls in the opposite direction. It pains him to look away from Tom, but there's time, isn't there?

There's all night left...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 answers to the free space because there was no way i could stick it into any other prompt, but hey!


	4. welsh wig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the burial at morning

The clearing of the ashes is far messier than anything else the expedition had done. They'd lost so many men, and to follow such a bloodbath with a grueling walk through the wasteland? There's no one to turn to except to someone who'd always had his hand out to Magnus - Cornelius.

"We'll drop like flies on the way," mutters Billy Gibson one afternoon through his rations.

"How much do you think that dog's rations are equal to ours?" gripes Tom Armitage.

Magnus' head turns towards another group of seamen where Hartnell is. His red hair glints in the sun like a spark of optimism away from his friends' complaining. But if it were only grousing among the boys, Magnus would have left anyway. That's when Hickey speaks up.

"This will be a mercy, boys," he coaxes Mr. Hoar when he voices his discomfort. "We'll give each other a better fighting chance out here. We're doing this for both our sakes', but someone's got to go."

Magnus is no longer looking in Tom's direction. Cornelius was right. How Magnus wished he could stay with Tom, leave the mutiny to someone else - but the less people with the expedition, the better odds they had of surviving split up.

"Tommy," muses Magnus. "Do you reckon we could come back for the others from Fort Resolution if we're quick enough?"

Armitage gave him a look like he'd just spoken madness. "They'd hang us for desertion, Magnus."

That evening, Sergeant Tozer tells them about Leftenant Fairholme's team. Not half an hour after, Mr. Morfin tries to murder Captain Fitzjames. Magnus cries himself to sleep, knowing what was going to be asked of him in the morning. And the one after. And the one after that.

* * *

Leftenant Hodgson has few words, and even less of an eye for his seamen during the burial. The glances between Magnus and Tom are shattered, evasive - maybe Magnus is just a terrible actor, but even Tom has this uneasiness in his words. Not that there were many. Digging Mr. Morfin's grave was grueling, hot, exhausting work. Hot enough that Magnus takes off his wig and runs his hands through his hair when the work is done. He sits down before they lay down the body, almost expecting to be told to get up by the Leftenant. Instead, Tom sits beside him and takes off his wig in turn. They take these few moments to look at each other; and then they look at the canvas-wrapped body on the stretcher, desperate to not see an omen of their demise in it.

The wind howls not far away. With the same breath of all the dead that's been chasing them from the ships. Magnus winces. Not even the wind is the same in this place.

He opens his mouth, desperate to reach out to Tom in some way now, with their wigs off so he could listen, away from the lads where he could dare to hope -

"Lay him down, boys."

Mr. Hodgson's voice is subdued.

The burial proceeds in silence, and they have nothing to say to each other along the way, or even at the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4 answers to the prompt of welsh wig - which i know was a bit of a stretch, but the wigs come to mind at that one moment in episode one when tom hears the impending ice pack, asks them to take their wigs off to hear it - but no one listened.


	5. terror camp clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "for the entire rest of your long lives you'll look back and think of how hard this day was. for now, only do. and do well."

On the afternoon of the day Lt. Irving and Mr. Farr are killed, Magnus' gums begin to bleed.

He wouldn't have minded before. Sores, bruises - he was a working man. He had nothing to complain about to the officers or the doctors. If he told them about the wailing in the air or the headaches they'd mock him. But after the battle with the Eskies, he can't look at the blood on his fingers from tracing a line across his gums without being stricken by the knowledge that this was a mark. For what he had done.

In his tent, he begins to wheeze. His lungs feel like they're shrinking and cracking in the cold. He doesn't join Armitage and the boys, but instead goes straight to the tent where Mr. Bridgens had settled. He seems to already be busy, but then -

"Magnus?"

He turns, and Tom Hartnell is there, in the fog, staring at him. He somehow hadn't noticed the rustling of the shales behind him - much was beginning to escape his notice now. But he can tell Tom's worried.

"Tom." He can't help himself from lunging forward, and Tom returns the hug hesitantly. "Tom, we were just fighting back - "

"Magnus, it's fine - " Hartnell's embrace tightens, and Magnus softly pulls away as his breath begins to slow. "The captain is asking for volunteers to scout where the fight took place."

Magnus' hand goes to his mouth, and he can feel the iron building up before his tongue. "What if I die," he blurts out. "They'd kill me. I know I'm marked. I'll deserve - "

"We're not going to die." Tom takes the hand with the bloodied fingers. "I'm glad you're not dead, okay? You did what you needed to do to live and keep your friends alive."

Tom Hartnell pulls him down for another hug, but his lips brush past his cheek as he does.

In spite of this reassurance, Magnus slowly shakes his head. Tom Armitage passes him, cheerfully pointing towards the main tent where they'd gathered, and when he glances past, Tom Hartnell's walking away with a strange look in his eye.

It's like he's already betrayed him.

_ This is to keep _ you _ alive. _

* * *

The fog hasn't let up by the time Magnus has set up the sleds for the breakaway plan, and he's interrupted by the news of a trial. For Mr. Hickey and Sergeant Tozer. The entire scene is like a bad dream, and all Magnus can do is stare dumbfounded as the captain lays out what they'd truly done.

From the other side of the circle, Tom Hartnell's looking down at the shales, truly crestfallen and avoiding Magnus' gaze.

He really wants this nightmare to be over -

A deafening roar interrupts the execution. The men are all on their feet and scatter towards the camp, to guns and anything that might keep them safe. Magnus wishes he could stay with them, so much, that they could kill the beast and leave as heroes and -

_ Not anymore. _

Billy Gibson takes his hand as they run through the camp, clearly stricken as well by the time they've reached the supplies they'd set out. Cans upon cans, what should have been an ordinary load feels like the weight of the world to him.

"Billy, I - "

"Remember what he told you. Just do, yeah? Yeah?"

Before he knows it, he's running. He's setting up the boat, strapping himself up, through the screams and the fog and the tears that he furiously wipes away for the march to come. It would be a long one, he knew it, but he's thinking about the captain, Mr. Blanky, Mr, Bridgens,  _ Tom Hartnell  _ \- if he wasn't going to live, at least all of them stood a better chance without him. Without all of them. His friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 5 answers to the prompt "terror camp clear", as i think about the one damn scene where manson just wants anyone to give him an out to this mutiny.


	6. exes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "there's no game here."

Weeks pass, but Magnus wouldn’t know it. There are scores of lakes in his head now, where memories would be. He’s been whittled down to just his body, and his muscles, as he’s the biggest force between all of the mutineers in pulling their boat. But when his spirit returns to his body, he’s overcome with despair. Moments alone to break down crying, coming to in the middle of a hill of shale facing the vastness of the Arctic wasteland at the head of their group, or hearing the roaring of the beast pursuing them far away. The aches of the scurvy and whatever illness the cans had left them with piled up all at once, and the blood seeping out of his scalp and nails came into sharp focus. One time, he falls to his knees, overcome with all of the world crashing down on his husk of a body.

Mr. Goodsir walks by him with an unsympathetic smirk.

“Magnus.” Mr. Hickey pats his shoulder, then holds his hand. On his left, Billy Gibson’s mouth twitches. “We can do it.”

Magnus wishes he could believe him. Instead, he leaves his body once more as he comes to his feet to retake the march.

* * *

Later that evening, Billy Gibson leans against him on the boat, breathing heavily. One of the more pleasant moments of coming back to earth.

“Do you still trust him?” whispers Billy, hoarser that he’s ever been in Magnus’ earshot. His bloodshot eyes are fixed on the horizon where Hickey’s taken to look ahead.

Magnus closes his eyes and laughs.

“Are you in love with him?”

“Yes.”

The answer is serious, and full of grief. Magnus believes it.

The stars above them are alien to him, but their brightness brings Magnus back to the days of the early expedition, and when he held Tom Hartnell at Carnivale so close to his face. His eyes glittering in front of him, his breath hot and strong before they tumbled into the ground.

“I’m sorry,” says Magnus, both to Billy and to the image of Tom Hartnell’s eyes.

“Don’t say that.” He gives an uneasy cough. “I don’t regret coming here, even if it means my death.”

“But you don’t trust him anymore?”

Billy has fallen asleep beside him by now. It would be the last evening the two had to speak before scurvy took him.

When the time comes to eat from his body, Magnus is numb.

* * *

When news of the other camp came forward, Mr. Des Voeux asks for Magnus to help escort Bobby Golding back to them. He doesn’t remember agreeing, or even the order to bring back the captain as well. The rays of the sun feel like they’re piercing through all the layers of his clothes and his skin until all that’s left is charred flesh, and that’s all that matters until they actually come across the other camp at the head of the hill. The familiar faces spread before him, all of them bearing arms against him, feel like just another of his latest visions. Even Tom Hartnell’s steadfast grimace, feels like a memory of old. Until he glances to him in despair. Magnus lowers his gun out of instinct.

“Magnus - ” calls out Tom.

Mr. Des Voeux shoots him.

Another lake in his memory. By the time he’s come to, he’s back at the tents, and fallen to his knees before the fire. He would scream if he had any voice left in him at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 6 answers to the prompt "exes", because hickey and gibson give everyone a run for their money in worst exes ever. also, have i mentioned tom hartnell died in a desperate plea to get magnus manson back to his side? i'm sure i haven't m


	7. until the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I forgive him. I forgive all of them.”

Magnus’ spending his days as far away from the others as he can now. He has enough company of his own in the tents as it is - there’s Billy Gibson, Mr. Strong and Tom Evans, Mr. Morfin, even old David Young glancing back at him like it’s the old mess and they’re waiting for duty to be numbered out. Outside of the tent are all the screams of everyone they couldn’t save. Inside the tent, it’s safer. There’s only one ghost that’s been keeping Magnus company that isn’t inside the tent, and he’s been calling out his name ever since the standoff.

“Magnus.”

Magnus whimpers. _I’m sorry._

“Come out.” Tom Hartnell’s shadow plays on the yellowing canvas tent, but Magnus knows it’s him. Another chilly breeze shakes the tent. Another uneasy breath of the dying.

“No,” he manages to croak out, to the dark.

Suddenly, Tom’s holding his hand. His eyes are kind.

“Can you be brave? For me?”

Tears spring at the corner of Magnus’ bloodshot eyes, further blurring his eyesight. He’s able to bring himself to his feet, and that’s when the entire mirage collapses. He’s in the tent, alone, and Mr. Hickey is before him with his hand stretched out and a twinkle in his eye. He’s brought so much misery to Magnus. Magnus only even did it so they could _all_ live, and it didn’t happen -

But Magnus has gone numb by now. He wipes away the tears, and marches out to see the body of Mr. Goodsir splayed out like a Christmas dinner at the edge of their camp. The wind caresses his curly brown hair like he was still alive. His voice had joined the others, though.

* * *

Unlike with Billy Gibson’s body, Mr. Goodsir’s flesh begins to eat him from the inside.

“It’s nothing,” he shakes off, as they set out to find the beast, despite the coughing and his faltering. Nothing, even when the blood spurting from his mouth isn’t from his gums anymore, but from his throat. Nothing, even when he needs to pause for breaks that are clearly getting on Mr. Des Voeux’s nerves. He needn’t worry there. He’s able to point a gun where it’s needed so they could leave him alone - Mr. Hodgson, the captain, Sergeant Tozer and Bobby Golding are all straining against their chains. 

A strange look comes across Mr. Hickey’s eyes, and if Magnus still had his wits on him, he would have found it dangerous. 

“You think you’re going back?”

There. There it was.

The world is tilting off its axis repeatedly, and Magnus’ vomiting blood and pus on the shales every other sentence.

All of his pageantry is lost on Magnus as he concentrates on riding out the waves of pain wracking his body and blocking out every noise coming his way. He’s unable to ignore Tom Hartnell’s voice, though. _Magnus, Magnus -_ like a curse. For his cowardice.

* * *

“He’s here!”

The world finally comes into focus. Magnus grasps his gun as strongly as he can, in spite of the malaise. This only brings the pain even stronger than before, and for the first time in months he gives a howl of pain from deep within. That’s when he catches a glimpse of Tommy Armitage raising his gun, but not towards the horizon, but of all people -

Magnus shoots.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” he sobs. He’s not able to pick himself up for when the beast comes over the ridge and begins to tear them apart. He only cowers by the boat in fear whimpering like a child, like a coward, knowing that he’ll be getting the pathetic little death he’s had coming for him all back from the day they took the witch from her home against her will -

Bobby Golding dives under the boat beside him, and the beast dives after him to pull him out by his foul-smelling jaws to his unceremonious death -

_I’m sorry, Tom, I’m sorry -_

“Magnus. Come and see.”

Mr. Hickey’s voice rings clear, and it’s so sweet to his ears that for an instant, the pain becomes only a dull ache at the pit of his stomach. This is it, he supposes. He stands, and before him is the beast itself with the blood everyone he knew dribbling down its chin.

The monster roars.

* * *

The last thing in his mind is the image of a hand stretching out to him. And gray eyes with it. With a twinkle. [Tom Hartnell’s eyes](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5LvFArh43vcspWbjabquH6?si=qIHNpTlQRAiUH9DaScAUtQ).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the final chapter answers to the prompt "until the end of this". if it really is the end for everyone eaten by the tuunbaaq.


End file.
